


Don't Die Until I Kill You

by Naivette



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2229339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naivette/pseuds/Naivette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite Fritz hating his guts, he didn't like the idea of him dying either. An AU fic in which Bittenfeld becomes friends with the most hated man in the empire, and they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [An Unwanted Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/70707) by luffyluffy. 



> This is an AU fic with some major changes in latter half of LOGH in order to accommodate the characters. It follows canon up until Reuenthal's “second betrayal” which never happens because he apologizes to the Kaiser after the serious talk with Mittermeyer. After an internal investigation by Kesler, Heydrich Lang is still executed for plotting against the Kaiser. The Republic of Iserlohn still has a final battle with the Empire, with Julian negotiating for a constitution after their loss. It takes place before Reinhard's death.

Mecklinger looked disapprovingly at Bittenfeld, drinking his tea in silence.

“It was mostly your fault.”

“Ernest you have got to be kidding me! That bastard  _ insulted _ the Kaiser!” If there was anything that Mecklinger knew about Oberstein, he knew that as despicable a man he could be, his actions always followed a rigid code of internal ethics. He supposed that in his own way, the man was as much a work of art as Kaiser Lohengramm himself. 

“Don't misunderstand me, I'm not going to say Oberstein was right. But you  _ assaulted _ him. Now the Kaiser wants you to reconcile, and it's your job to apologize!” He furrowed his brows. “ If you're too prideful to simply apologize, it's all over for you.”

Bittenfeld's anger, ever burning, was just about doused. He didn't want to lose his place in the Neue Reich just because of some internal scuffle, he would much rather face death on the battlefield thank you very much. He cringed at the thought of bowing his head to that sinister, always plotting fox. It was probably the most shameful thing he'd have to do in his whole life, even more than facing the Kaiser after Fahrenheit's death.

Mecklinger knew that Bittenfeld was probably going through some idiotic exaggerations of the task he had to complete, so he caught his friend's attention with some well placed coughing.

“You're turning this into more of an issue than it has to be, honestly. Stop being such a baby and go apologize to our revered Chief Minister of Military Affairs.” He gave him a wry grin.

“You little shit, I'll get you back for this later, you just watch!” Bittenfeld poured himself a drink and downed it in one go. Without even saying goodbye, he stormed out of the High Admiral's lounge, leaving behind a highly amused Mecklinger.

 

On the stairs to the Minister of Military Affair's office, Bittenfeld ran into Anton Ferner. Unfortunately for Ferner, he was skillfully conducting a delicate balancing act of carrying both case files for a ridiculously large amount of cases, and a cup of coffee. The force from the collision scattered the files all over the staircase, but the cup was barely saved with Bittenfeld's fast reflexes.

Ferner turned around to glare at the person who had caused such a mess, but quickly regained his composure.

“High Admiral Bittenfeld, thank you for saving the Chief Minister's coffee.” He said without much joy. Bittenfeld handed him the cup, then stooped down to gather up the papers.

“Admiral please! I can handle that-”

“I like to clean up my own messes whenever I can, it's alright.” Bittenfeld said. He straightened up the mess as best he could. “Why don't you hand these over to me? I have to visit Oberstein anyways.”

Reluctantly, Ferner handed Bittenfeld the coffee back. “Thank you Admiral Bittenfeld! If you'll excuse me...” he hurried down the stairs, his mind already on the next task that needed to be completed.

Bittenfeld sighed at the irony of the situation. Not only did he have to apologize to the man he perhaps hated most in this universe, but now he was doing  _ subordinate _ work for him. He knocked on the Chief Minster's office and entered without waiting for a reply. 

“Ferner, I asked for my coffee twenty minutes ago, where have you been.” Oberstein didn't even bother to look up from his screen.

“Give the poor guy a break, I'm surprised he's lasted this long with all your slave-driving!.” At the unexpected voice, Oberstein raised his head. Although he wasn't prone to showing much emotion, his eyes widened.

“What can I do for you, High Admiral?” Bittenfeld closed the door and rapidly crossed the vast distance to his desk. Paul von Oberstein failed to flinch, despite the precedent set by Bittenfeld.

Bittenfeld set down the coffee and papers gently, raising his hands up in mock surrender.

“I came here on other business, but I accidentally ran into the poor Rear Admiral.” After a pause, he added “The coffee's not poisoned, I just brought whatever Ferner made.”

Oberstein took the cup in his hands, taking a sip gratefully. Bittenfeld cleared his throat and positioned himself farther away from the front of the desk.

“The business that I'm here on is-” Bittenfeld paused and looked at the drapes before continuing. “I, High Admiral Fritz Josef Bittenfeld, would like to issue a formal apology to the Chief Minister of Military Affairs for thoughtlessly assaulting him when I should have merely voiced my disdain for his foreign policy.”

Oberstein assumed that it was probably Mecklinger's doing that Bittenfeld was apologizing at all. How else would someone so crass use human words of regret and sincerity when the word 'retreat' wasn't even in their vocabulary to begin with?

He calmly leveled as amicable a look as he could at the orange-haired man.

“I appreciate the thought, High Admiral. If that'll be all, I have work to return to.”

 

Without any other work to occupy him, Bittenfeld returned to his quarters. Although they were modest in comparison to His Majesty's palace, they suited him just fine. Without a family, the condominium was merely too empty and big to maintain without the help of the servants. He shed his uniform in the parlor of his house, and collapsed on the couch. A cheerful Labrador puppy jumped into Bittenfeld's arms, licking his face affectionately.

“Hey Frigga, down!” Bittenfeld struggled to get the hyperactive puppy to stay still so he could pet her. Frigga nuzzled his chest before bounding off the couch and leaving the room. Bittenfeld laughed at the sudden change, and laid down to take a nap. His eyes closed and sleep came to him easily; this past week had been harsh on his sleeping schedule with all the commotion over the recent terrorist attacks on Phezzan.

A low whining and scratching sound woke Bittenfeld. He yawned and opened his eyes slowly, the late afternoon sun was bright and warm in livingroom. He stretched languidly, then straightened up his shirt and slacks before investigating the sound.

Frigga was pawing at the door, leash in mouth. He had slept through her afternoon walk. Bittenfeld scratched Frigga behind the ears, just where she liked it, in apology before tying the leash to her collar. After putting on some shoes, he called for the butler.

“Sebastian!?”

Contrary to the image of an old, humble man serving as a butler, a man younger than Bittenfeld appeared in the walkway.

“Could you have dinner ready for me in about an hour? I'll be gone to take Frigga for a walk at the dog park.”

Sebastian nodded, and opened the door for his master. “Will that be all Mr. Bittenfeld? Do you have any preferences for dinner?”

Frigga bolted past the door, tugging at the end of the leash. She yearned for the fresh air and new things to smell outside, not paying attention to her owner's dinner plans at all. Bittenfeld was dragged outside by the small fur ball of energy, already inching towards the yard gate.

“Surprise me! Thanks again for your hard work, see you in an hour!” He waved enthusiastically, already jogging to keep up with Frigga who was making a bee line for the dog park.

A slight flush came to Sebastian's face. Although he hadn't worked as a butler for long, he was sure that the easy affection and friendliness that his master displayed was uncommon, especially towards his own servants. He treated them more like family, really. He supposed he was lucky that he worked for a master like Mr. Bittenfeld.

Bittenfeld had planned on going to the Hydrangea Dog Park closest to his house (it was only four minutes away), but Frigga pulled west instead of east. Going towards the sunset, he acquiesced, figuring it would be nice to take a longer walk today anyways. They could even visit the big dog park!

He didn't often choose to go to the Magnolia park because it was twenty minutes away, but it was worth it every once in a while. It was three times as big, had an elaborate fake pond with a river system, and even a doggie playground. It was pretty well maintained, and usually quite busy during the weekends. However, seeing as it was a weekday, he could make a pretty good bet that it wouldn't be so hectic today.

Bittenfeld was starting to get a little winded because they had been “jogging” (mostly just Frigga tugging on the leash and him fast-walking to keep up) the whole way there. He opened the gate to the dog park and let go of the leash.

As he thought, there weren't so many people today. Most of the dogs there were lazing around in the warm sun as their owners talked. Frigga rushed around, jumping and barking in circles. Bittenfeld picked up a small stick, waving it in front of her. She wagged her tail in anticipation.

“Frigga, be a good girl and … CATCH!” He threw it as far as he could, and the stick sailed through the air unceremoniously, landing right next to an old Dalmatian. The excitable puppy rushed forward, running at the location full force. She managed to get the stick, but also collided into the poor spotted dog.

“Shit!” Bittenfeld uttered as he ran towards the Dalmatian. He grabbed Frigga and kneeled, offering his hand for the dog to lick. The old dog sniffed hesitantly, before licking his hand gingerly. Bittenfeld petted him softly, looking around for the owner to apologize.

“I've just been getting into trouble lately, I could probably teach an apologizing class!” he said out loud to nobody in particular. Frigga wiggled around in his arms before she freed herself and approached the old Dalmatian.

“I hardly think so, the act of apologizing means that one needs to have the feeling of remorse, High Admiral.”

A cold shiver ran up Bittenfeld's spine. He stood up promptly and turned around, somehow still expecting to see the Chief Minister of Military Affairs in all his military regalia. However, Paul von Oberstein was standing there in slacks and a dress shirt with a bag of treats and a red ball in hand.

“What are you doing here!?” Bittenfeld said, more astonished than anything else. He didn't really have the capacity to get angry for having to meet Oberstein a second time today, especially under such unusual circumstances.

The other man gave a quiet snort. “I would think it was obvious considering the objects that I am holding, but I guess I overestimated you.” He sat down on a bench, and the Dalmatian sauntered over to Oberstein's side, wagging its tail affectionately. Oberstein petted the dog with a confidence that only the owner could have. He even gave him a treat!

Bittenfeld face-palmed, and sat down at the other side of the bench. “I didn't think you were capable of human emotions! I guess only dogs can understand dogs.”

Oberstein's annoyance flared minutely. In retaliation, he held out a treat towards Frigga. The Labrador puppy jumped into Oberstein's arms happily, putting its paws up on the stoic man's chest and licking his face in earnest.

“Ah! Frigga you traitor!” Bittenfeld said. His exasperation lightened Oberstein's mood.

“I guess you must be lower than a dog, High Admiral, if you cannot even understand the basic wants and needs of a canine.”

Bittenfeld folded his arms and turned his face away, hiding his red face. His brows furrowed. “Whatever! Frigga is just a saintly and kind dog. I'm sure she's just trying to bestow some affection on your starved-for-love self! Be thankful that she's even-” When he moved to face Oberstein again, he was gone. The Dalmatian was once again taking a nap, but Oberstein had gone off to entertain the lively young puppy. She was currently running around with a red ball in her mouth.

Now that Bittenfeld thought about it, he had never seen Oberstein look so “joyful” (if that word could be used to describe him). Although he wasn't yet smiling, the features of his face relaxed, and he seemed less cold calculating robot and more human. It occurred to him that if Oberstein actually smiled like a regular person, he might actually be tolerable. Bittenfeld reached down to pet Oberstein's dog. Just like his owner, the dog was quite reserved; however, he leaned into the red-headed stranger's touch happily, panting and wagging his tail.

“Hey Oberstein! What's his name?” Bittenfeld said, pointing towards the sweet, old dog in question.

Oberstein wondered in silence for a few seconds before answering, “It's Faust.”

Bittenfeld looked down quizzically at the dog. “Faust huh? Your owner has an interesting naming sense. The original Faust was taken down to hell by demons because of his greed for knowledge about heaven and earth...” He slid across into the middle of the bench to get better access to Faust. Bittenfeld petted Faust with both of his hands in a display of embarrassing affection. Frigga, noticing her owner's attention towards the “other” dog, ran up to Bittenfeld, barking and jumping up for attention. Sighing, Oberstein came back to the bench.

“Your dog learned some terrible habits from you.” he said nonplussed.

Bittenfeld laughed. “Hardly! Here, watch this...” he got up and started to issue commands. Sit. Stand. Roll-over. High-five. Paw. Hush. Frigga consistently did the commands perfectly, ceasing all barking and whining with the last one. Bittenfeld looked over at Oberstein triumphantly before sitting down.

“See? My dog is excellently behaved. Frigga, come here!” he said. The Labrador puppy leaped up from the ground into Bittenfeld's lap, resting after an exciting playtime and walk. He grinned at her, extremely proud of his dear little Frigga. Oberstein could say what he wanted about him, but he wouldn't stand for someone insulting such a good companion!

Much to his surprise, Oberstein talked. “Did you train her yourself?”

“Indeed I did, though I got the help of a friend who worked at the shelter where I adopted her.” The conversation flowed freely between the hot-blooded High Admiral and the stoic Chief Minister of Military Affairs. Although they couldn't see eye to eye on issues of war and politics, their love for their dogs was something uncontroversial and common between the two of them.

After that incident, Bittenfeld would often go out of his way to visit Magnolia Dog Park, sometimes running into Oberstein and sometimes not. However, when they did meet each other, they often talked about inane topics such as the weather, or the Kaiser's torture upon the High Admirals by making them go to ballets and operas with him. Bittenfeld couldn't say that he was friends with Oberstein, but perhaps he understood a little bit more of the man than before. He could understand his hatred towards the Goldenbaum Empire, and his sense of duty to the stability of the Neue Reich.

At the same time, Oberstein saw more of Bittenfeld's personality beyond the fight-hungry, ever straightforward High Admiral. He began to see Fritz Josef Bittenfeld, a man who had risen through the ranks with hard work, who acknowledged his own mistakes and shortcomings and understood that although it wasn't the smartest thing to do, his own pride as a warrior in the battlefield was something very dear not only to him, but the Bittenfeld family.


	2. Spy

Bittenfeld bit his lip, waiting in the late, cool afternoon. It had been about 3 months since he had made his visits to the dog park a regular occurrence, and he was currently waiting for a certain individual. After the continued mauling of his lips, he felt a sharp, burning sensation permeate and he tasted a hint of iron.

“Ow!” He keeled over, pressing a few fingers to his mouth. Soft footsteps approached the bench, along with the panting of a content dog. He pulled away his hand, discovering blood at the fingertips.

A disconcerted sigh alerted him to the newcomer. A very familiar newcomer that was clad in warm overcoat and grey scarf.

“Good afternoon, Bittenfeld.” Oberstein said. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to his friend.

Bittenfeld stared at the white cloth, with it’s delicate embroidery of the owner’s name. He shook his head.

“There’s no way I’m getting blood on that thing!”

Oberstein sat down, and then pushed the cloth into Bittenfeld’s face, wiping the blood off of his visage.

“Handkerchiefs were made to be spoiled, regardless of what color they start out as.”

Bittenfeld rolled his eyes, but let him do as he pleased. After a few moments in silence, Oberstein spoke again. “Where is Frigga?”

The red haired man shrugged his shoulders. “Frigga somehow caught a doggy cold, so she’s resting at home.”

Oberstein posed the obvious question. “What are you doing at the dog park without a dog?”

“Hey! I came to invite you to dinner at my house.”

“What a sudden invitation.”

“Well I would have called ahead but we never actually shared phone numbers!”

A few minutes passed in amiable silence before Bittenfeld grew restless. “So are you gonna-”

“I accept your invitation.”

Bittenfeld exclaimed “Great!” loudly, and hopped to his feet. “We should get going now then, cause dinner is probably already waiting for us.” His stomach grumbled and he licked his lips before realizing that he shouldn’t have. Bittenfeld winced at the sharp stinging sensation, immediately regretting his habit of biting his lip whenever he was thinking about something.

Faust pawed at Bittenfeld, sensing that his owner’s friend was in some sort of vague distress. Oberstein stood up elegantly and walked past him.

“I assume you’re not too poor to own chapstick.”

Bittenfeld’s face grew red. “Shut up! It just makes it worse.” He followed behind.

“I’m curious, why?” Oberstein said. Faust walked contently in front of his owner while Bittenfeld caught up to his side.

“Well if you really want to know, it’s because my lips aren’t chapped. I was biting them out of habit. So flavored chapstick would only make the habit worse.”

They walked side by side in the cool, autumn afternoon. The sidewalk was barely wide enough for the two of them, so they often drifted into each other’s personal space.

Mecklinger had decided to go out for a jog and some fresh air this afternoon because today’s desk work had been exceedingly stressful. Phezzan was a much greener planet than Odin was, so he decided to take advantage of it’s natural beauty. Just as he turned around the corner, he noticed a familiar red-headed male on the opposite side of the street. Mecklinger nearly called out to his friend before he noticed who he was with. What was Bittenfeld doing with Oberstein? Most importantly, what was Bittenfeld doing talking to Oberstein in such a _companionable_ way? It was well understood among all the top ranking officers that Oberstein was an isolated, friendless man. He made no efforts to be friendly with other people, nor seemed to enjoy the company of others.

Yet here was that isolated man not only taking an amiable walk, but doing so with one of the most rambunctious admirals in the empire. Mecklinger could hardly believe his eyes. He stopped jogging, pretended to be tired, and then crossed the street behind them discreetly. If there was anything about Ernest Mecklinger, it was the fact that he wouldn’t miss such a great opportunity to see a rare sight. They turned the corner near Bittenfeld’s home, so Mecklinger waited behind the corner in order to over hear their conversation. Thankfully, Bittenfeld was talking loudly as usual so he had no trouble.

“I’m not lying, this idiot put the wrong number on the supply order and we got TEN times the amount of ammunition we were supposed to receive!” Bittenfeld laughed openly, and even Oberstein’s shoulders shook a little.

“I’m surprised that one of our officers cannot even count. The Empire will be troubled if left in the hands of such people.” Oberstein said with a tinge of humor. Bittenfeld’s laughter grew even more apparent. Mecklinger peeked around the corner, and saw that there were even tears in his eyes from what seemed to be an extremely funny joke between the two.

Most shockingly of all, on September 3rd, 800 U.C., High Admiral witnessed a historic event. On that day, he saw the Chief Minister of Military Affairs, a man infamous for being stoic, smile earnestly.

Mecklinger’s jaw dropped and he stood there awestruck while his friend escorted Oberstein inside his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter forever but decided to post it now because there's no point in keeping it to myself!


End file.
